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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29899536">Our Screaming Joins In Unison</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/number_of_the_beast_is_666/pseuds/number_of_the_beast_is_666'>number_of_the_beast_is_666</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Musketeer March 2021 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Musketeers (2014)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Swordfighting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:26:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>682</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29899536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/number_of_the_beast_is_666/pseuds/number_of_the_beast_is_666</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Musketeer March 2021 Day 6: Swords</p><p>"...that unwanted animal wants nothing more than to get out..."</p><p> </p><p>Title, and summary quote, from "That Unwanted Animal" by The Amazing Devil</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>d'Artagnan &amp; Athos | Comte de la Fère, d'Artagnan/Athos | Comte de la Fère, d'Artagnan/Constance Bonacieux, if you want to read it that way</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Musketeer March 2021 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2189571</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Our Screaming Joins In Unison</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I tried very hard to stick with swords as the prompt, and it is the theme of the work but it might be said that the focus is on d'Artagnan and Athos. Also it might just be one long pup joke.<br/>Apologies for any mistakes.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A lazy smile crosses Athos’ face when d’Artagnan lays one of his gloves across the table in front of him, a rare expression but a welcomed one, bright like the sun rising over the silhouetted city of Paris.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They do this; whenever one of them gets that itch under his skin that only this can satisfy. d’Artagnan feels… Like he’s being chased, like he did in that confrontation that left his father dead, standing only because the alternative was to fall, and so, so powerless. Like he can only stand his ground and face his opponent with his teeth bared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he feels that wild animal inside him crawl out of the pit where it hides, only the flash of swords in the afternoon sun and the singing crash as blades meet can tame the creature’s passion, its snapping jaws that show in d’Artagnan’s shortened temper and harsh tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some days he doesn’t feel the climbing beast until it sinks its teeth in, lashing out like a cornered stray, and then even Constance’s soft touch or loving words cannot pacify the viciousness that rises to the surface in him, he needs to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fight</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not about the fight itself, he doesn’t need the petty rage of a bar fight or the cruel amusement of a duel with a Red Guard, <br/>it’s about the movement of it; the liveliness that he only feels when his sword glances off another man’s steel, and the purging exhaustion that comes after, when he feels like an overridden horse, sweat sticking his hair to his face as his breath comes fast and raw, ready to keel over. The visceral feeling of having survived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s when Athos calls him to the benches for a drink, pulling him away from a fight he’d lose himself in, putting a tired dog back to its bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For Athos, he doesn’t want to cage whatever animal hides inside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to pull the stray out from the cave it waits to die in, to save it from its hopelessness, the same way he can feel d’Artagnan saving him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Athos fights to feel the burn of his arms as he bring his sword down is a shining arc to meet d’Artagnan’s, to feel the collision and the tremor it sends up his arm, the impact reverberating through his chest as much as the sound does through his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needs the proof that he’s alive and not just waiting for an early death of his own making.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The same way d’Artagnan will strike, Athos will withdraw into himself, disappear into the bottle, resurface days later, starved of sleep and peace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>d’Artagnan hears the silence, and where Porthos and Aramis will try and draw Athos into conversation, d’Artagnan will place a glove in front of him and go to wait in the garrison courtyard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both need this; that sharp, purifying desperation that comes only towards then end of combat, when the lost look in their eyes has faded, replaced by a savage recklessness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Athos has tried other means. He’s tried target practice with Aramis and cards with Porthos, reading, riding, but it all fades away in the face of swordfighting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His sword an extension of his arm, moving with practised ease, cataloguing d’Artagnan’s moves and deciding whether to deflect or retreat, mind flicking through stances and guards and moves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, if at the end of their combat, if Athos sits and sinks back into his silence, ready to fall into awaiting his death again, d’Artagnan will draw him into conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Idle chatter for Athos to lose himself in, or recounting their fight with colourful commentary, he doesn’t let Athos withdraw until he’s certain he won’t return to his lodgings to drink, but to fall into his bed, tired out from conversation as much as sparring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is their shared saviour, and when they see each other in the morning, well-rested in that sleepy sort of way, the daytime drowsiness that comes with sleeping so deeply and so well, they’ll share a soft smile and carry on with settled beasts and aching arms.</span>
</p>
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